“Good, for there isn’t a drop of hot water ready. I’m not much of a tea fighter myself—a B. and S. is more in my line. Have one? No? Well, smoke anyway. Here’s a new sort the old man brought along: they’re not bad; they’re like him, not bad but might be better. Though I mustn’t grumble at him now, for he just ran up to give me these and to say he’s off for a week.” “Is he? Then I’m in luck, for I’m alone too. Can’t we go out and dine somewhere?” “Why, yes. We’ll go to the Inferno, as I call it; we’re sure to meet some pals; at least I shall, and I’ll introduce them if you like.” “Of course I should. I haven’t been there for an age, and I do want some fun.” “Getting tired of Georgie? He is a bit serious.” “Well, I think I shall appreciate him all the more if I don’t see too much of him.” “And he’ll like you all the longer if he don’t see too much of you. That sounds jolly rude, don’t it? But men are all alike in some things, and one of them is that they’re always singing ‘When _other_ lips.’ And just you beware when they begin to protest that they can’t get on without you: that’s always a sign of the beginning of the end to my mind. Right-oh! Have a B. and S.? No—well, daresay you’re right. I’ll have one more and then I’ll dress and we’ll be off. The Inferno’s crammed always and I hate sitting at a table with other people, unless I’m one and _he_ the other,” she added, laughing. There was something bold and free about the figure of the woman as she stood beside the table with her hand raised to put the glass to her mouth, the clinging folds of the slight tea gown showing clearly the outline of her stalwart figure, her broad shoulders and shapely breasts. Marian felt slight and fragile by comparison. Something of the difference between them had evidently struck Mrs. Harding at the same moment, for she said as she put down the empty glass: “We make a good couple, we shall never interfere with each other’s game. I suppose you’re just about as tall as me, but you’re slight and I’m big—quite big enough; I’m black and you’re golden. Are you going to change? I shouldn’t if I were you—that’s right—we can chat while I get on my togs. Where’s Georgie off to?” “Only dining out.” “Oh! Coming along later on?” “I expect so.” “What a nuisance; you’ll have to be back early, and I was counting on having some fun and perhaps bringing a couple of boys home with us. Well, you must make the best of a short time and hope for better luck.” Marian made no response, though she was disappointed and wished that she were free for adventure, any that would break the dull monotony of her present way of living. The license of this woman’s life made hers by comparison all the more strait. Pausing for a minute at her flat to put on her furs, Marian and her new friend went down. “Shall we bump it in a motor, or go comfy in a hansom?” “Whichever you like,” Marian answered. “I’ve not much choice, but I feel rather ‘hansomy’ this evening, don’t you?”